"Tiiiiiny Bubbles..."

I swear when I'm in a medically induced sleep, I do it like a champion. Two days ago I took NyQuil Cold and Flu ("Capitol N, small Y, big fucking Q! I love that fucking Q!" Yes. I had to throw in the Dennis Leary line) to get some sleep. Holy shit, did I ever get it. So not only did I sleep for what seemed like days, I was actually unable to answer Aaron's cell phone (he left it behind when he went to work) when it rang incessantly in the middle of the night, perched within arm's reach on the nightstand. I was aware that it must be Daren calling and I was aware that I wanted to throttle him for the calls and I was aware of the plan I had for both him and the phone, I just couldn't do a damn thing about it. Then in the morning, when Daren called again--and every ten minutes for about two hours or so-- I again knew the phone was ringing, I knew who it must have been and I knew that I had upgraded my original plan to now include a possibly implanting of a cell phone into a skull, should my aim and throwing arm prove to be of full use.

Then there were the fun dreams I had. During one of them, I was chasing down something with a marshmallow gun. But apparently it was the strongest one in the world and could actually stun the hell out of a person without actually killing them. In another dream that night, I was the captain of a boat, not sure why or how, but I still had my trusty gun with me. Then the most intriguing... I also dreamed that I had bubbles in my scalp. Yep. I went to brush my hair and kept seeing little bubbles flying all over the bathroom. When I checked my hair in the mirror, there they were, at the base of every hair was a little translucent bubble, just like the ones from bubble solutions. And the more I tried to get rid of them, the bigger they got. I pretty much ended up with an Afro of bubbles that refused to wash or blow away.

NO. Fecking. Clue. "NyQuil, NyQuil, NyQuil, we love you! You giant Fucking Q!"

So yes, now that I've slept for most of the last two days, I feel much better. The aches and pains are gone but I'm still pretty congested and my voice hasn't fully returned. Oh yeah, did I mention that we're in for a pretty big snow storm and we're supposed to be going to a Christmas party up in Peekskill? I think we're going to get there very early and heading out early. Aaron has to work and I shouldn't be there overnight. Really I don't think I should be there at all, but I really need to get out of the house. I feel waaaaay too couped up and I'm afraid to look in the mirror now.

Oh yes, in case you're wondering, no. Daren had no reason and/or emergency going on that required that many phone calls. He was calling to say hello and to see what Aaron was up to and see if Aaron wanted to get coffee (in the morning it was breakfast). I should explain. Daren's the kind of single guy who really doesn't understand why his buddies don't want to hang out to all hours of the morning and would actually want to do things like be responsible, go to work, and get married. He fully believes everyone should be hanging out with him at a diner or fiddling around with music that will never be heard by anyone but him. He's basically in a perpetual state of arrested development; stuck at oh, say, 21-22. You know, the age where you really couldn't give a rat's ass about anything because you're now a full grown adult and can even drink. Apparently, the reality check bitchslap that gets us all shortly after that stage missed him. That in a nutshell is Daren. A perfect target for my marshmallow gun. Ah well.